


Arrangements

by seimaisin



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/pseuds/seimaisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hero of Ferelden wants Bethany. She's not sure why, but she won't ask questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my May 2013 fic challenge, shared with [cherith](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cherith) \- one of us posts a fic on Tumblr every other day for the whole month.

The Hero of Ferelden looked exactly like Bethany expected the hero of one of Varric’s tales should look - tall, dark, handsome, with chiseled features and long dark hair. She couldn’t resist stealing glimpses of him when she was sure he wasn’t looking. His mouth was firm, his shoulders broad, his voice deep and commanding. Were she still an impressionable young girl, she might have swooned at the very sight of him.

But she wasn’t. She was a Grey Warden, and Aedan Cousland her Commander. No, not just her Commander - the Prince Consort, husband to the Queen of Ferelden. He was about as untouchable as one of those fictional heroes Varric always told her about. Still, Bethany didn’t think it would do any harm to look at him. And maybe entertain a fantasy or two when she was alone in her quarters. The Queen was a lucky woman, she thought. 

The Commander wasn’t the kind of person who fraternized with the common man, or woman. In her months at Vigil’s Keep, she’d never seen him at dinner with the rest of the Wardens, or drinking with anyone in the common room late at night. He was kind enough, in his own way, when they were out on official business, but no one would accuse him of being anything but aloof. Until the night Bethany stumbled into the Keep’s kitchen after everyone else had gone to bed, desperate for something that might settle her stomach after one of her now-thankfully-rare nightmares. She was rummaging through the pantry when she heard the voice behind her. “I see I wasn’t the only one in need of a late night snack.”

Bethany couldn’t help it - she let out a loud squeaking noise as she whirled around. When she saw the speaker, she felt her face go red. “Oh. Commander. I didn’t - I mean, I wasn’t -” 

He laughed. She’d never heard him laugh before - never even seen him smile. It transformed his face, gave him small lines and creases that turned him from a beautiful sculpture into a real live man. She felt her heart constrict at the sight. “I’m not going to tell the cook on you, I promise. As long as you share those cookies you’re holding.”

At that, she smiled, and held out the container. And if she thought he stepped a little closer than was strictly necessary, or his hand might have lingered a bit too long on hers when he reached for the container, it was clearly all in her head. But still, it was nice, to spend a few minutes sitting quietly with the Commander, discussing the cookies they used to eat as children. For a moment, she felt like they might be equals. 

The next day, the next mission, the Commander was his usual self. He spared no extra glance for Bethany, no sign that they’d ever sat in the dark together. Which was as it should be, she thought. Ten minutes did not a relationship make.

But, she did find herself fighting in the Commander’s party more often than she used to, on this trip. And he spoke to her more often than usual, even laying a hand on her shoulder when she stopped to heal him. “Thank you, Bethany.” She’d never heard her name on his lips before - she’d always been “Hawke,” if he had need to call on her. The name felt intimate, made his hand weigh heavier on her shoulder, as if she could feel his touch on her skin through the layers of armor. It wasn’t as if she’d done something out of the ordinary - she’d just directed a bit of healing magic at his superficial wounds, so he wouldn’t bleed all the way back to the Keep. Yet, somehow, it felt different, even after she’d blushed and nodded and walked away. 

And so it went. The Commander still didn’t socialize with the Wardens at large, but somehow Bethany kept finding him in her path around the Keep. He somehow knew she was from Lothering, and spoke to her of visiting there prior to the darkspawn attack. He asked about her siblings, about Kirkwall, even about growing up as an apostate. She hadn’t known he paid that much attention to her. But there he was, armed with details about her life, always touching her when they spoke - a hand on her elbow, on her back, fingers brushing errant locks of hair from her face. She’d accuse herself of dreaming the contact, of imagining the small, intimate smile on his face, if only it hadn’t kept happening.

So, Bethany wasn’t entirely surprised after all the night he invited her to his quarters. When she asked of his marriage, he nodded. “The Queen and I have an arrangement,” he said. “Our partnership is more political than personal.” 

She’d heard rumors to that effect, but to have them confirmed from the source was something different altogether. “So, you can …” She waved a hand in the air, indicating herself. “And she doesn’t mind?”

“As long as it’s kept discreet, no, she doesn’t.” 

There was a part of Bethany that was horrified by the concept - marriage was a sacred concept, or so she’d been taught, and a husband and wife were meant to be faithful to each other. She wasn’t the kind of woman who would steal another woman’s husband, that part whispered. It was wrong, it was nothing she had any interest in doing.

Of course, that part of Bethany wasn’t the part that had spent the better part of five years crawling through Deep Roads and visiting far-flung areas of the world. It wasn’t the part that had lost her virginity in a dark underground tunnel, or listened to fellow Wardens brag about their exploits with whatever willing locals they could find. It wasn’t even the part of her that had fended off Meeran’s advances in the Red Iron, or watched her brother disappear into the back of the Hanged Man with Nora for twenty minutes at a time. It was the part of her still believed the world was basically a good place, the part that had once believed in heroes and fairy tales. 

But this life wasn’t a fairy tale, and Aedan Cousland wasn’t a fictional hero. He was a man, just as Bethany was a woman. A lonely woman, at that. One faced with an invitation from a man who stirred her blood. What else was she to do, then?

She took his hand, and let herself be led away.

One night turned into two, which turned into an arrangement most of the Keep turned a blind eye to. There were rumors, sure - Wardens were notorious gossips - but most of it stayed out of Bethany’s path. She disregarded what she did hear. It was nice, after all, to share her bed with a man willing to do all sorts of delightful things to please her. A man who wanted her - a man who could have practically any woman in Ferelden, if not all of Thedas. He could choose to spend his time any way he wanted, but in the end, he came to her, time and time again. 

It wasn’t love. But it was good enough. And if she once heard Oghren muttering about how “the Commander apparently thinks one dark-haired witch is just as good as another, at least between the sheets,” she pretended not to notice.


End file.
